


Stagefright

by ghostwriterly



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous Smut, M/M, NHL Player Jack Zimmermann, Shameless Smut, Stripper Bitty, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 08:22:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11916948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwriterly/pseuds/ghostwriterly
Summary: Jack Zimmermann is very, very lost but very, very happy about it.





	Stagefright

Jack was supposed to be sleeping.

After handily beating the Stars, his teammates had gone out to celebrate, crawling across the pubs of Uptown. Jack had begged off; he was rarely in the mood for the guys’ post-game ritual drinkfests, and was even less so tonight. All he really wanted to do was go straight to the hotel and get some shut eye.

How he ended up in the back room of an upscale strip club was a comedy of errors, and if Jack’s usual luck held—would probably only get worse.

_/ \\_ 

Jack squeezed the bridge of his nose and counted to five. After a lifetime of hotel stays, you’d think he would be better at this. He’d given the driver the wrong hotel, but didn’t realize it until he was inside the lobby. He would have called Thirdy or Tater to come get him—but he must have left his cell phone in his hotel room before the game.

He left the lobby and approached the bellman at the curb. Worst case scenario, he would have the driver drop him at a bar in Uptown and he would find his friends. He couldn’t ask for a phone—he didn’t know anyone’s number. The bellman smiled and greeted him, but before Jack could even speak, a drunken group of hockey fans fell out of a cab and surrounded them.

“Holy fuck, you’re Jack Zimmermann!”

Jack panicked. Rather than sacrifice what little peace the night still held for him, he took off down the street, thankful the group was too inebriated to coordinate their chase and giving him a good lead. When the excited screeching grew too near, he ducked into a random open door.

He hovered there, in a candlelit foyer, ears straining as he tried to determine whether or not his followers had seen him.

“Sir? Right this way, please.”

Jack blinked. The man was shockingly beautiful, tall and dark, with heavy lidded eyes and a shock of black hair artfully curving over his brow. He nodded his head in Jack’s direction before turning and disappearing behind a heavily carved door. At a shout from the street, Jack scrambled to follow, pulling the door firmly closed behind them. He barely glanced at his surroundings as he walked briskly down the lushly carpeted hall.

“A single?” The man stopped at a polished wooden stand and ran a finger down the page of a leather ledger.

“Pardon?” Jack asked. Was this a hotel, then? Could he just get a room and sleep and work everything else out in the morning? Excited murmurs filled the hallway behind him as people exited a door amid a smattering of applause. “Yes,” He hurried to add, desperate to get away before he was recognized.

“Perfect. Cash or credit?”

“Uh, credit.” Jack fumbled for his wallet and passed over his Visa, feeling a little giddy; he had no goddamn idea where he was or what he was paying for, but Shitty would be so proud of his sudden burst of spontaneity.

“This way, please.” The man stopped at a door at the end of the hall, stepping aside to allow Jack to pass in front of him.

Jack paused just over the threshold of the empty room, frowning at the receipt in his hand. It was too dim to make out what, exactly, he had paid for, but this was no hotel. He glanced around the small space. The floor was glossy hardwood, and there was a narrow, velvet-draped stage tucked into an enclave on the right. A single wooden chair was the only furnishing.

The hair stood up on the back of his neck; he had a very bad feeling about this. He should leave. Just walk out and never look back. There was no reason he should have followed the man—the usher, whatever he was—in the first place, and at this point he didn’t even care about the money—he just wanted to go to bed!

Jack shoved the receipt in his back pocket and turned to go, freezing when a lone figure appeared on the stage. It was a man, small in stature with golden blond hair and wide, dark eyes. Jack gaped—because he was very, very pretty.

And he was very nearly naked.

Their eyes caught and they stared at each other for a beat before the stranger grinned. “Ya chickenin’ out, cowboy?” He laughed, melodious and light, and sashayed across the stage. His well-oiled body glimmered in the spotlights, a tiny scrap of red fabric barely covering his groin. 

Jack mentally shook himself and tried to find enough spit to swallow. “I’m not supposed to…” He stopped. Not supposed to what? Be there? Look at this extremely gorgeous man? But how could he  _not?_  He was magnificent. Compactly muscled, perfectly proportioned, golden skin for days, and an ass so exquisite Jack’s palms were sweating. Jack forced himself to look anywhere but at center stage, noticing—to his immense embarrassment—a discreetly placed sign that read  _No Touching._

 _Fuck,_  Jack cursed inwardly, heat flooding his face. He was in a fucking strip joint.

“Whatever you’re not supposed to do, sugar, is just fine. We leave all our cares outside that door,” the dancer pointed vaguely toward the exit. “In here, we feel good and we—” He laughed again. “Well that’s actually everything. We do whatever makes us feel good and don’t worry ‘bout much else.”

Jack scrubbed his hands on his thighs, heart in his throat. “That’s it?” Holy Jesus, he was  _not_  considering staying. He was  _not._  He was going to walk out that door and back onto the street and hail a cab and—

“Within reason, yeah.” The man fussed at a control panel partially hidden by a dark red drape.

Jack blinked when the lighting shifted and soft jazz began to play. “There are rules?” He gave the door one last glance; it was now or never.

On the stage, the man was warming up, long, languorous stretches that pulled the tiny booty shorts he wore tight across his ass. "Sure are, sugar."

Jack made a decision.

He walked to the chair and sat down. (And hoped his credit card company was discreet.) “What kind of rules?”

When the dancer straightened out of his stretch, he was smiling, and he kept right on smiling as he hopped neatly to the floor and headed straight for Jack. He didn’t stop when he reached him, didn’t stop until he was straddling Jack’s knees, his palms glancing over Jack’s wide shoulders. “ _Nice_ , baby,” he murmured, fingertips tracing the worn cotton, eyes wide when he tried and failed to wrap his hands around Jack’s biceps. “You’re an athlete?”

Jack couldn’t breathe, his skin scalded, groin tight and so, so hot. Suddenly he wasn’t very tired after all. “Sometimes,” he managed between a concerted effort to remain still, shocked when his voice emerged deep and husky.

“Figures,” his torturer frowned. “All the beautiful ones are closeted, you know?” He reached up to twist his own lip between two fingers before lowering himself to Jack’s lap.

“I’m not closeted,” Jack mumbled, lightheaded. The heat of the dancer’s bare skin on his denim-clad thighs was intoxicating and he longed to hold him, run his palms along his bare sides, trace the divots of his hips.  _No Touching._

“No? Then you’re one of the few and the lucky. I’m Bitty, by the way.” Instead of holding out a hand to shake, Bitty continued to work his lower lip between his fingertips, studying Jack up close.

“Jack.”

That prompted a small smile. “Nice to meet you, Jack.” He braced himself on Jack’s shoulders and leaned forward until his breath tickled at his ear.  “Now sit back and relax, sugar. Because I’m going to rock your world.”

_/ \\_ 

The thing was, Jack had never actually  _been_  to a strip club. He had no idea what to expect, and other than following the one, plainly stated rule—he had no prior experience to gather from.

Bitty seemed to recognize this, maybe from the stiff and stilted way Jack remained frozen in his seat even as Bitty gyrated in his lap or nuzzled along sharp turn of his jaw. He giggled when Jack swallowed convulsively, and Jack lost five years off his life when he felt the soft flick of a tongue on his neck.

“Ahh, baby, you’re so sweet, and so, so gorgeous,” Bitty breathed against his mouth, his lips hovering with just enough distance Jack had no hope of ever meeting them.

He groaned, heartfelt. “Bitty, you’re a fucking tease.”

Bitty snorted and rocked his hips downward, hard and swift. “I know.”

“Can I—” Jack clamped down on his tongue before he started to beg.

“No,” Bitty crooned, reading his mind and reluctantly sliding off of Jack’s legs. “You can look your fill.” He turned his back to Jack and stretched his arms high over head, moving his body in time to a new pulsing beat. He glanced at Jack over his shoulder, and gave a coy little wink. “But you still can’t touch.”

Jack fisted his hands on his thighs and tried to absorb it all, every minute detail. His memorized the shape of Bitty’s back, his deltoids and trapezius carved from marble, his waist impossibly narrow. The crack of his perfectly shaped ass was a visible shadow through his tiny shorts, and Jack was startled by an intense longing to bury his face just there.

It had only been five minutes and he was already so hard he wanted to die.

“How long?” He gasped, clenching and unclenching his fists.

Bitty laughed, breathless, swiveling his hips and spinning around. “Oh sugar, you paid for thirty. So you’re all mine, for twenty minutes more.”

Jack whimpered. It was a strange way to put it, but also weirdly accurate; he was putty in Bitty’s hands.

Those twenty minutes were sheer, amazing, ludicrously hot torture. Jack became intimately familiar with every cell of Bitty’s body—including what was under those tiny shorts—while sitting glued to that damn chair and simultaneously cursing and thanking Jesus.

The only thing that saved him from mortification over his own enthusiastic response, was that Bitty seemed to be every bit as worked up as Jack. He was beautifully hard and wore a deep rose flush all the way to his navel, his skin glowing with a thin sheen of sweat.

When a soft buzzer chimed from the stage, Jack closed his eyes and tried not to cry.

Bitty left him to shut off the alarm and then collapsed in the center of the stage, arms flung out to his sides.

For two long minutes, the only sound was their synchronized breathing, and Jack scrambled to think of a way to smuggle Bitty out of here and back to Rhode Island.

That was a reasonable possibility, right?

He came crashing back to reality when Bitty rolled to his feet and slipped into a robe, covered and calm when the discreet knock came at the door. He nodded at the usher who appeared a moment later, apparently giving the all clear, before bending over the stage console and returning the lighting to its original setting.

Jack let out the breath he had been holding; it was over.

The usher wasn’t leaving and Bitty wasn’t coming with him. He wasn’t even going to say goodbye.

Jack was a customer, and he’d been served.

It stung, and Jack’s stomach churned with frustration and lingering embarrassment. He forced down the disappointment and stood, incongruously shaking the usher’s hand and thanking him, before leaving without a backward glance. 

He was halfway down the block before he realized he still had no idea where he was, or which way to go. He stared up at the night sky for a long moment, before scraping a hand over his face and rolling his neck. His muscles immediately protested, tight from sitting in one position too long, especially so soon after playing a game. He needed a whirlpool and a massage.

And a stiff drink.

And a—

“Jack!”

Jack turned so quickly the blood pounded in his ears, and he opened his arms just in time to catch a hundred and forty-five pounds of exceedingly hot (but sadly clothed) Texas stripper. “Bitty?”

He would have said more—he had a  _lot_  to say—but Bitty was devouring his mouth in a wildly passionate kiss, so Jack decided to roll with it. He lifted him in his arms, grunting in approval when Bitty wrapped strong thighs around his waist. He held him there, hands finally,  _finally,_  on that delectable ass, until they came up for air.

And he held him even then, while they smiled at each other in the middle of the night on some unknown Dallas street, a hundred yards from a private strip club and a million miles from Jack’s normal, boring existence. 

“Would you like to get a coffee?” Jack asked in a rush, feeling shy and excited—a ball of nerves bouncing from his stomach to his throat.

“I’d love that,” Bitty said, tipping forward to kiss him again, this time chaste and soft, a far cry from the steamy charmer of before.

“Oh my God, is that Jack Zimmermann?” A shocked voice called from the road.

Jack grimaced. This night had just come full circle. He mouthed a quick  _I’m sorry_ before lowering Bitty to the ground.

A dozen of the Providence Falconer’s finest poured out of a stretch limousine and surrounded them on the sidewalk.

“So  _this_  is why you refused to come with us?”

“I thought you said you were  _tired._ ”

“Jack Zimmermann, you  _dog._ ”

“GUYS.” Jack reached down to lace his fingers with Bitty’s, giving them a quick squeeze of reassurance. “This is Bitty. Bitty, these are the guys.” He gestured vaguely to his teammates, hoping they would catch a clue and disappear before they scared Bitty off.

This was his second chance, by God, and he didn’t plan on wasting it.

Bitty gave them a little wave. “Hi.”

There was an awkward pause while they all stood there grinning at one another.

“So!” Thirdy rubbed his hands together. “You two want to come with? We’re heading back to the hotel.”

Marty slapped him on the back of his head. “Subtle,” he muttered.

Jack had just opened his mouth to refuse when Bitty shrugged. “Sure. We were headed there anyway.”

Jack flushed and followed Bitty and the boisterous group into the limo.

He didn’t have a chance to apologize again until they were in the lobby, waving goodnight to the guys. “I’m sorry about that,” he said, turning to Bitty with an anxious frown.

“I’m not.” Bitty’s answering smile was coy and flirtatious, and he backed toward the elevator bay, holding out one hand for Jack.

“You’re not?” Jack’s pulse fluttered when their fingers met.

“Nope.” Bitty popped the  _P_  with a grin. “You wanna know why?”

The elevator door closed and Jack inhaled sharply when Bitty pushed him against the wall. “Why?”

“Because,” Bitty stood on tiptoe and gave Jack a quick kiss. “First you’re going to suck my dick, and then I’m going to suck yours, and then,” he paused to kiss him again, slipping his tongue between Jack’s lips, teasing and slow. “And then,” he continued, breath shallow and fast. “We’re going to have that cup of coffee.”

Jack was about ten seconds from losing all ability to think coherently. “That sounds perfect.”

“Yeah?”

Jack could hear the pleased preening in Bitty’s voice, and he cupped one hand around his jaw, eyes serious. “Yeah.”

Bitty ducked his head shyly, leaning into the touch. “Well good.” He sighed and then surged forward again to hug him. “Jack?” 

“Mmm?” Jack ran his hand over his hair, thinking he maybe just won the life lottery.

“How do you know that limo full of giants?”

Jack chuckled and wrapped his arms around him, giving him a squeeze. “It’s kind of a long story.”

Bitty looked up, smile blindingly bright. “Guess it’s a good thing I have time.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The elevator dinged and the door slid open, and Jack hesitated. “What if it’s a  _really_  long story?”

Bitty pulled at his hand and led him into the hall. “I don’t think I’ll mind.”

“No?”

“Nope.”

Jack could breathe again, and he wondered what Bitty looked like first thing in the morning, sleep flushed and mussed. He dug the key out of pocket and swiped at his door. “Bitty?” He asked, as they stumbled over the threshold, hands reaching, mouths meeting.  

“Hmmm?”

“Have you ever been to Rhode Island?”

_/ \\_ 

It was just as Jack suspected.

Bitty looked  _amazing_  in the morning.

 


End file.
